


Ghosts of the Apocalypse

by GutterBall



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Chuck Has a Potty Mouth, Chuck Lives, M/M, Otherwise Canon, Post-Pitfall, Pre-Slash, gets kinda dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 06:19:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1734239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GutterBall/pseuds/GutterBall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, crap. Apparently the table is still leaking, as Stephen King would say. This is apparently what happens when I call in sick from work with a killer migraine and watch Scrooged when I can't sleep because of it. This was supposed to be cracky and ridiculous, but... yeah. Plot intervened. Anyway, after Pitfall, Chuck seems to be floundering with the enormity of a future he didn't expect, and it takes some supernatural intervention to smack him upside the head and make him see what he's missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts of the Apocalypse

"Ya know, most people who survive an apocalypse take a look at their lives and try to fix their mistakes."

Chuck Hansen, well into the bottle of vodka the Russian J-techs insisted the Kaidanovskys had willed him on the off chance that he survived, snorted. "Think we already had this discussion, old man. Remember how it went?"

Sighing, Herc shook his head and leaned heavily on the bar. "I'm not asking you to be a better man, son. You already are, and we both know it. Just... this isn't good for you."

Eyes bleary, Chuck glared at his father and took another long, deliberate swig straight from the bottle. "I'm not allowed to toast my fallen comrades?"

"That's not what you're doing." Rolling his eyes, Herc shoved away from the bar. "But whatever. Do what you want. You always do anyway."

Grunting, he slid off his stool and stood tall, refusing to waver on feet that felt a little less steady than he expected. "And if you really think that, old man, you're dumber than I ever thought you."

Knowing a parting shot when he blurted it, even when it caused that strained wince around his old man's eyes, Chuck about-faced and strode out of the Shatterdome's mostly empty pub, vodka bottle in hand. He was tired of everyone telling him how he should feel about still being alive. He was tired of everyone asking him what he'd do now that the Breach was sealed and the war clock had stopped.

He was _tired_.

As steadily as he could, he made his way through the echoing halls. Without the teeming masses that had filled every corner of the building, the few remaining Shatterdome personnel reminded him of a handful of leftover peas rolling around the bottom of an industrial-sized can. He and Herc had stayed, of course. Mori had stayed, which surprised no one. Tendo and the mad doctors had even stayed, mostly to compile the mind-numbing array of data Gipsy's AI had infodumped before going supernova in another world.

And Becket, of course. Not like the sad old fucker had anywhere else to go.

But everyone else was gone, buggered off on extended leave until the Powers that Be could determine whether to keep the jaeger program alive in a smaller form or just dump the whole works in hopes that the kaiju would never come back. Snorting, Chuck remembered the whole Wall of Life debacle and supposed he knew exactly where the dumb fucks at the UN would cast their vote.

The world grayed out for a moment, and he swayed midstep, pausing to run a hand up over his face. When he recovered and opened his eyes, a startled shout jumped out of him at the sight of Raleigh Fucking Becket right in his face, eyeing him with wary concern.

"The fuck, Becket?" Two steps back probably wasn't a good idea, because the fucking septic actually reached out to steady him, necessitating a jerk to free his arm which sloshed perfectly good vodka on the floor. "Aw, look what you... this shit is in short supply, ya fuckwit!"

The dumbass put his hands up to show he was innocent, or at least that he wouldn't touch him anymore, which suited Chuck just fine.

"Sorry, just... I thought you were going over and though I'd save you the trouble."

He snorted. "Ever the fucking hero, eh, Ray? You're so bored now you're wanderin' the halls lookin' for damsels in distress?"

The stupid face split in a smug grin. "So now you're a damsel?"

Scowling, he braced himself for a tussle. "Oi, not what I fucking meant, asshole."

Again, the fuckwit put up his hands. "Surprisingly enough, I wasn't looking for a fight. How about you keep going that way and I keep going this way, and we stay out of each other's hair until I leave tomorrow?"

Forcing himself to be as stable and non-slurry as possible, Chuck took a step forward and poked the annoying bastard in the chest. "I'd tell you not to tell me what to do, but that's the best fucking idea you ever had, mate. Stay the fuck outta my way, yeah?"

He told himself he didn't see the disappointment clouding the seppo's baby blues as said seppo obligingly backed away and headed down the hall toward the pub. He also told himself he didn't stand in the hallway, staring at that retreating form until it was out of sight before turning around and heading for his own bunk again. The fuck had the septic meant about leaving tomorrow, anyway? Where the fuck else did Becket have to go?

God, he just needed some sleep. He hadn't slept in a week. Kept seeing that big bitch hauling her skanky ass up out of the Breach, kept seeing her wind her tails up for the strike that had damn near killed the whole world by disabling the bomb release. Kept feeling the roller coaster of a magic carpet ride as his escape pod went a few rounds with the fringes of a thermonuclear detonation.

Shuddering, he drank down most of what was left in the bottle, then stumbled up his steps to lean his cheek against the cold metal of his door. It felt good. He hadn't realized how hot his face was until just that moment.

His cot felt even better when he tumbled into it, though, and he didn't bother toeing off his boots before burying his face in his pillow and sprawling like a chalk outline at a crime scene. Even a few hours of sleep would be a blessing at this point, and if the Russians' congratulations-for-surviving-unlike-us vodka wouldn't do the trick, nothing would.

Just a few hours of sleep.

God, please.

 

\--

 

"Wake up, Charlie."

The voice dragged at him, but he ignored it. He was exhausted, and he'd saved the fucking world, so he deserved some by God sleep.

"Up and at 'em, kiddo."

Muttering in nonsense syllables, he flapped a hand toward whatever was tormenting him but didn't otherwise move.

"That's it, kid. Time for drastic measures."

Ice cold water rained down on him, and Chuck was up and off the cot, fists raised for a fight, before he was consciously aware of the movement. Shuddering, he clapped a hand to his instantly throbbing -- and dripping wet -- head and stumbled back a step as a truly epic hangover took hold.

"Fuuuuuuuuck."

His tormentor chuckled, unsympathetic. "You never did learn to keep hydrated during a good drunk, Charlie."

Wincing, Chuck tried to force himself to think as he clutched his head. Something was very, very wrong here, because unless he'd suffered some brain damage during Pitfall -- always possible -- he only knew one person ballsy enough to call him Charlie more than once.

Reluctantly, he squinted one eye open, then straighted up and proper gaped.

"'S good to see you, kid."

His mouth worked a few times before he managed to force understandable sounds to emerge. "Uncle Scott?"

It wasn't possible, but... there it was. Scott Hansen stood before him in all his salty, ginger glory, quirking the cocky smirk that Herc used to say made him both want to punch his brother and scruff his hair.

"It's been a long time, Charlie. You're looking a little worse for wear these days."

Blinking and still gaping, Chuck swiped at the cold water still trickling out of his hair. "I... don't... does Dad know you're here?"

Scott shrugged. "This isn't about him, kid. It's about you. He wouldn't see me if I dropped trou and mooned him."

Chuck had nothing intelligent to say to a statement like that. Maybe he was still abysmally pissed because he couldn't make any kind of sense of it.

Apparently, his uncle realized that. "In a way, I'm not really here. Think of me as a ghost, yeah?"

His stomach dropped. "But... you're not dead."

A ginger eyebrow rose. "Would you know if I was?"

Oh, that one hurt. Chuck swallowed hard. "...Are you?'

Scott opened his mouth, considered, then waved the question away. "Doesn't matter. What does matter, Charlie boy, is that you're headed for trouble, and I don't want that for you."

Completely off-balance for perhaps the first time in his life, Chuck took refuge in bluster. It, if nothing else, felt normal. Safe.

"Guess you're not keeping up with current events, Scoot, but I just dropkicked trouble back to its own dimension. I'm on top of the fucking world right now."

Ah, that knocked the smirk off. Herc's old nickname still had its power, it seemed.

"Seems to me, Chuckles, that Raleigh Becket dropkicked trouble back to its own dimension."

That just wasn't fighting fair. Scowling, Chuck drew himself up, his fists clenched. "Oi, he fucking had help."

Scott rolled his eyes. "And some of that help was you. You did help save the world, Charlie. That's not what this is about, either."

And suddenly, it struck him. This was all a dream. The Russians' vodka had knocked him cold, and this was nothing more than a drunk dream. A very vivid, very weird drunk dream.

Relieved, Chuck actually smiled. "Doesn't matter what it's about, Scoot, because I'ma wake up any minute now."

Unfortunately, ol' Uncle Scoot only snorted. "Not you. You're too goddamn stubborn. I'd blame Herc, but I know you probably got it from me." He shook his head. "No, kid, you're gonna need one hell of a shaking to wake you up, and it's long past time you got it."

Scowling, Chuck ran a hand through his hair and scowled worse when it was still wet. If this was a dream, it was a disturbingly coherent one. Wet hair, the clammy chill of his wet t-shirt sticking to his back, the throbbing of a truly magnificent hangover headache....

Uneasy, he again put up a front of bluster. "The fuck are you on about, mate? I remember you making a lot more sense when I was a kid."

Scott Hansen sighed and, bizarrely enough, started backing away. "You may not see it, Charlie, but I'm looking out for you. You'll see three more of us tonight. If you're as smart as I remember you being, you'll listen to what they have to say." Though his voice seemed to fade the further back he stepped, he had no problem making sure Chuck saw that cocky smirk one last time. "Of course, since you're a stubborn little fuck, they may have to beat it into you."

"Oi, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Chuck jumped forward, following his estranged uncle into the dark, only to run face first into the wall opposite his cot. The impact combined with the alcohol lingering in his system and the ever-building hangover to knock him flat on his ass, and as he passed out, the sound of his uncle's laughter drowned out the ringing in his ears.

 

\--

 

"So this is Herc Hanson's son in all his glory."

A bolt of agony shot through Chuck's head, and he moaned pitifully, curling up on his side and hiding his head in his arms.

"Boy. Talk about your letdowns."

The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but not familiar enough to require any kind of answer. Thank God.

"Unfortunately, I've owed that bastard of an uncle of yours a favor since Manila because he's a goddamn card shark, so... wake up, kid."

Something hard prodded him in the back, and he grunted, relinquishing his hold on his head to swat at it. To his dismay, the gesture only served to prompt a stronger prodding, and then an actual kick when he apparently didn't move quickly enough.

"Oi, what the fuck?" Groaning, he rolled away and glared up at whoever had just fucking booted him in the back. In the near-dark, Raleigh Fucking Becket looked both older and smarmier, and Chuck did not have the patience for his bullshit right now. "Ugh, fuck off, Ray. I've got a bitch of a hangover, and--"

"Wrong brother, dipshit."

He froze, eyes going wide. Uncle Scott. Something about ghosts. Something about three more of them.

Squinting up, Chuck felt the world tilt on its axis. That wasn't Raleigh standing over him, cross-armed and glaringly unimpressed.

"Yancy Becket is dead."

And yet, it was Yancy Becket rolling his eyes and reaching down to snag an arm and haul Chuck to his feet. And it was Yancy Becket wincing away from the huff of a disbelieving laugh Chuck couldn't help upon coming face to face with a man five years dead.

"Jesus, kid, what were you drinking? Liquified kaiju shit?"

No longer stumbling drunk but still unsteady on his feet, Chuck didn't jerk away from that too-tight grip. If he had, he didn't doubt he'd go sprawling on his ass again.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

The elder -- and fucking dead -- Becket rolled his eyes again. "Salvation, Chuck. So shut up and pay attention because this shit doesn't happen twice."

This time, Chuck couldn't help jerking his arm away. "The fuck are you on about? I don't need salvation. I'm not the dead one here, mate."

Becket sighed. "You're gonna make me do this the hard way, aren't you?" He shook his head. "Alright then, Hansen. Here's the hard way. This isn't about saving your life. This is about saving your quality of life."

Chuck scowled, but before he could snark, the septic plowed right on.

"You're an asshole, and nothing's gonna change that, but your uncle doesn't want you to be a lonely, miserable asshole like he was, so he pulled a few strings. You get the chance he never did."

So... his uncle really was dead? Was that what this dead asshole was saying? Because that... was something Chuck didn't want to think about right now.

"This is all a dream, yeah?" He hated the near-pleading in his voice, but....

Surprisingly enough, the elder Becket softened a bit at that. "Not like you're thinking. People won't see or hear us where we're going, but... no. You're not dreaming, Hansen."

He stiffened. "I'm not going anywhere with you, fuckwit."

Shaking his head, Becket reached out and grabbed his arm again, dragging him toward the wall he'd already bounced off of once. "And just like that, you're a prick again."

"Oi, let go, ya wanker!"

Unfortunately, either Yancy Becket had a grip to put a Cat-5 to shame or Chuck still wasn't at his best, because he couldn't break away, and one more step would bring his nose -- which Raleigh Fucking Becket had damn near broken already -- into contact with his own wall yet again.

"Seriously, mate, let fucking go--"

The wall felt... cool... and strangely staticky... when he passed through it, and he shut up as he realized he wasn't in the Shatterdome anymore. At least, he didn't think so. In fact, he wasn't sure he wasn't in the Drift. Things lacked that distinctive blue tinge he'd become so used to, but they still streamed past him as if he wasn't really there.

Then again, hadn't Yancy said people wouldn't see or hear them here? Wherever here was?

"The fuck are we?"

"Alaska."

He blinked and shot the seppo a look. "Sure we are."

Becket didn't answer. Just rolled his eyes.

Curious, now, Chuck looked around as they walked through the hustle of people. Now that he was actually paying attention, the building did seem arranged like most of the other Shatterdomes he'd been in, and he wondered if maybe this was the Icebox. But the Icebox had been closed for years.

Frowning, he stopped, tugging against that relentless grip on his arm. Thankfully, Becket stopped and looked back at him, though the bloke was clearly impatient with the delay.

" _When_ are we?"

At that, the dickhead smirked. "You haven't guessed? This is the past. In fact, it's the day I died."

Lead filled his gut, and he stumbled along blindly as Yancy dragged him through the rush of PPDC personnel in a panic. Ghosts. Three ghosts. And the first one was from the past.

This all sounded so familiar.

Even worse, he had a horrible feeling he knew exactly what he was being dragged to see. _Who_ he was being dragged to see.

The roaring thunder of an approaching chopper finally roused his attention, and he winced against the gusts of windy snow it blew around the heliport until he realized he didn't feel a damn thing. The wind didn't touch him, nor did the cold.

All he felt was his own clothes and the tight grip on his arm.

The medics were still trying to pry pieces of the wrecked drivesuit off of Raleigh's damaged body as they offloaded his stretcher. Some of the pieces seemed damn near welded to his skin. But his moans of pain didn't seem to coordinate with their movements.

Instead, they seemed to intensify after every whisper of his brother's name.

Swallowing hard as the med crew hustled the corpse-in-progress into the Shatterdome, Chuck shot a quick look at Yancy, then found his attention fixed at the pain etched into those familiar-but-oh-so-different features. This... wasn't a dream. Bit players in someone else's dreams didn't feel such agony.

Wordlessly, he followed without a struggle as Yancy tugged him after the fleeing med crew.

They stood just inside the OR suite as doctors tried to peel Raleigh out of the mangled chunks that damaged him now even as they had protected him before, and even sedated -- Chuck couldn't hide his relief as a nurse pumped something from a syringe into the IV line that had been started before he and Yancy appeared -- the poor bloke kept mumbling his brother's name and cringing at the pain it caused him.

And then, Raleigh rolled his head toward them and opened his eyes. Looked right at them. Those blue eyes streamed as if he were weeping grief itself instead of tears.

"Yance?"

To Chuck's surprise, Yancy actually answered. "It's all right, kid. You'll live through this."

More pure grief streamed from those shocked, horrified eyes. "I don't want to."

The grip on Chuck's arm tightened painfully. "Doesn't matter, Rals. It's what I want."

Raleigh swallowed hard, closed his eyes, threw back his head, and wailed at the ceiling, his body arcing with the force of it. The med crew struggled to hold him down whilst a nurse injected more sedative into his line, but Yancy thankfully pulled them back through the wall and away from the tragedy in progress.

Weak in the knees, Chuck stumbled back an extra step and wished they could just keep walking backwards until none of this had ever happened. Yancy's jaw was so tight Chuck couldn't help but wonder how the bloke still had teeth.

"I... I thought they couldn't see or hear us here."

For a long moment, he thought Becket wouldn't answer. Then: "They can't. It's... what I said at the time. I just... I thought he needed to hear it again." The bloke sucked in an unsteady breath. "Or maybe I just needed to say it again."

It occurred to Chuck suddenly that, in showing that scene to Chuck, Yancy had just forced himself to relive it at great personal cost. But... why?

Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how to ask without being the asshole Becket had already called him.

Fuck it.

"Mate, why would you show me something like that?" At Yancy's incredulous look, Chuck recoiled a bit, dismayed to find himself reaching for his bluster again. "I mean, what's it got to do with me?"

"What's it--" The bloke cut himself off, flummoxed. "You... you really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?"

Yancy dragged a hand over his face. "Christ."

"The fuck, mate?" He tugged ineffectually at the grip on his arm, fairly certain by this point that it'd be useless but unable to help himself. "I mean, I feel bad for him and all -- and you, because... _fuck_ \-- but...?"

Still looking gobsmacked, Yancy shook his head. "No asshole like a blind asshole." A huff of a humorless laugh escaped him, and he shook his head again. "Fine, asshole. Let's go back a little further and see someone whose significance you can't possibly miss."

With a yank, Chuck found himself hauled back into the wall they'd just backed through, but instead of emerging in the OR again, he stumbled into a military-neat bunk, instead. He glared at Yancy, then froze as he realized they weren't alone in the room.

Herc sat at the cramped little desk between the cot and the sink, his back to them, a half-empty whisky bottle in one hand and his head bowed. Chuck took an involuntary step back -- no fucking way did he want to see anything from his own past, no sir no how -- but Becket's grip tightened enough to cut off circulation, and the dead bastard dragged him around to see what Herc was staring blearily at.

Photos. Two, to be exact. A framed, studio-quality portrait of Angela Hansen and a candid black and white shot of Scott and Herc laughing by Lucky Seven's enormous feet, arms over each other's shoulders, beers raised in victory.

"I don't want to see this." Heedless of the bruising he felt settle into the muscle of his arm, he jerked desperately away, twisting futilely. "Let me fucking go right fucking now. You can't make me see this!"

"Shut up and listen, asshole."

"Hey, Ange."

His protests died on his tongue, and he felt choked by them as he tried to breathe around their corpses.

"Been a while, babe. Sorry 'bout that."

His father was cataclysmically pissed, his words so slurred they were barely coherent.

"You'd be proud, love. Charlie made pilot. Drift test tomorrow. Kid's got skills." Herc took a long, hard pull from the bottle. "Dunno if I c'n Drift with 'im, though, babe. All this shit in m' head. Scoot's still there, y'kna?"

Silent and pale, Chuck felt... small. He remembered their first Drift test, all right. He remembered his old man striding into the conn pod furious and nervous, like he was just waiting for Chuck to chase a RABIT and fuck it all up. And in the Drift itself? A big blacked off area that might as well have screamed _I don't trust you enough to show you this_.

"Never wanted Charlie to know, y'kna? Dunno how to keep it from 'im now." Herc shuddered as whatever rotgut he was drinking threatened to revolt on him. "And you. Ange... he's gonna hate me for you."

He felt his jaw clench as he struggled to distance himself from... whatever was happening. From the thought that maybe the old man hadn't distrusted Chuck so much as he had tried to... protect him? Shield him, definitely.

"I gotta forget, babe." Hard, calloused fingers stroked the curve of the portrait's jaw. "You're gone so ya can't hate me anymore, but Charlie... 'e's still here. I can't do it to 'im. So I gotta forget." Bleary eyes shifted to the candid shot. "'M sorry, Scoot. You gotta go, too. But y' already hate me, so it dun't matter."

With that, Herc shoved the pictures in the bottom drawer of the desk, locked it, then threw back the entire rest of the bottle, choking at one point as if he hoped to drown on it. When it was all gone, he stayed slumped back, his head thrown back at a painful angle, arms dangling at his sides. As they watched, his fingers loosened until the bottle clunked to the floor, rolled a few inches, and stopped.

That black hole in the Drift hadn't been a big STAY OUT sign. It had been a deliberate gap in Herc's memory. The old man hadn't been unable to trust his arrogant jerk of a son; he'd just been unable to inflict horrible memories on him. So, he had erased them, locked them away.

Chuck... wasn't sure how he felt about that, actually.

"Are you starting to understand yet?"

He didn't want to answer, but since he would have long since escaped if this was an actual dream, he supposed it would only be over sooner if he cooperated. So he shrugged. "Everybody's got a fucked up past?"

Becket grunted a long-suffering sigh. "Seriously, Hansen. Don't you ever listen? This isn't about them; it's about you. Don't you get it?"

Flicked to the raw by these bullshit memories that weren't his own and had nothing to do with him -- well, this one had, but only because it explained something that had always been like sandpaper to his nerves every time he stepped into the Drift -- Chuck again tugged uselessly against Yancy's grip. "Oi, just spit it out, Becket. The fuck am I supposed to get from this besides how badly the kaiju fucked us all over?"

Gritting his teeth, the dead bastard spun and yanked them into the wall, emerging into another barracks-style room. He opened his mouth to snark a question about where they were now, then abruptly realized he knew exactly where.

His own room at the Sydney Shatterdome.

"Pay attention, asshole. This one's important."

He really wished this was the kind of dream he could just punch his way out of. He already knew exactly where he'd start.

Unfortunately, his half-wish was interrupted by himself storming into the room and slamming the door. Wincing, Chuck eyed himself at, what, sixteen? Seventeen?

He had a sinking feeling he knew what this one was about.

Sure enough, his younger self glared around the room, a bomb looking for a place to go off, then hurled himself over to the closet, jerking the door open almost hard enough to yank it off its hinges. The little bastard dug around in the back for a long moment, then backed out with a shoebox in hand.

"No. _Fuck_ no." He turned on his tormentor and started shoving with his trapped arm. "I don't care if I have to watch, but you don't get to, fucker."

Yancy, that smirking jackass, refused to budge. "Payback for having to watch my brother wish he was dead, Hansen. Deal with it."

Cringing and blushing furiously, Chuck glared at the fuckwit, practically thrumming with the need to escape this madness. To his teeth-grinding frustration, his teenaged self kept poking around in that bedamned shoebox until he found what he wanted: a folded up poster that had, until recently, taken up pride of place on his wall. Unfolding it carefully, the little prick glared at the revealed jaeger and her smirking, asshole pilots.

Chuck didn't have to look to know, so he was even more pissed when the dead septic dragged him around to get a good, long look at Gipsy Danger towering over the Becket brothers in all their white-armored glory.

"Assholes." The kid hissed the word. "You for dying and you for leaving. Assholes. _Cowards_."

Yancy shot him a disapproving look, and Chuck felt that miserable blush climb his neck.

"Oi, I was devastated, alright? I never thought the fuckwit would actually leave the service." When this didn't change the look on Becket's face, he grunted. "It was bad enough that one of you died and Gipsy was fucked, dammit. Him leaving was... fuck, I dunno. It was... the beginning of the end, yeah?"

Again, the elder Becket was unimpressed. "And then, like now, you didn't care about what was happening to _him_. Just what was happening to yourself."

"Oi, who the fuck are you to tell me what I should care about?" Defensive as well as irritated, Chuck glared. "You two assholes started the dominos falling, and as far as I knew, you were dead and past it and that fuck-up had run away from the rest of it. What the fuck else was I supposed to think?"

Though Yancy Becket wasn't any taller than Chuck, he seemed to tower over him now. "That maybe the dominos started falling because the kaiju were getting stronger and smarter instead of the pilots getting sloppy. That maybe Raleigh left because they were already making noises about pairing him with someone else as soon as he was physically cleared and he couldn't bear the thought of Drifting with anyone else, of maybe having someone else's soul flayed out of his own while he stood helpless to stop it. That maybe your father needed you to look past your own pain and realize he was hurting, too, and that forgetting the only two people he cared about as much as you was a mistake that only hurt you both."

Speechless -- though whether from fury or shock, he couldn't tell -- Chuck glared at the dead pilot who might have been his friend in a better world. When he couldn't think of anything to say in response, Yancy snorted dismissively and gave him a shove, finally letting go of his arm.

Of course, Chuck didn't have time to enjoy being free of that grasp before the back of his head smacked into the wall and he collapsed face first to the floor.

 

\--

 

"I see you enjoyed the vodka, my friend."

The booming voice echoed painfully in Chuck's head, and he groaned miserably. Feeling almost as bad as when he first clambered out of his escape pod, he rolled gracelessly to his back, winced one eye open, and looked up. Way, _way_ up.

Aleksis Kaidanovsky towered over him, that bearishly huge face split on a toothsome grin. "Perhaps you should not have enjoyed the whole bottle at once, yes?"

"God help me."

The laugh was just as booming as everything else about the big Russian, and Chuck barely had time to suffer it properly before an enormous hand wrapped around his biceps and hauled him to his feet. "Why do you think I am here, tovarish?"

Misery exploded in his head, and he was distantly grateful for the big paw on his arm, as he probably would have just fallen over again without its support. Unfortunately, he had a sneaking suspicion he wouldn't be able to pull away from it, anyway. Not until it was good and ready to let go.

"Lemme guess, big guy: you're hear to show me something I'm too bloody stubborn to understand on my own."

"More or less. You are ready, yes?"

Grunting, he scrubbed his free hand over his face, then looked up at the giant bloke grinning down so patiently. "Oi, why are you in such a good mood? Aren't you pissed that Dad and I didn't get to you in time?"

Guilt twinged at him, and he winced and dropped his gaze to the floor. That still chafed him raw. If they'd started forward sooner, if they hadn't hesitated out of respect for their orders....

"No, tovarish. You did what you had to, and we died a good death in battle." The big paw around his arm squeezed gently. "No guilt for us, my friend. That is not what I came to show you."

Eyes wide, he looked up at Aleksis and felt... relief. Sweet, blissful relief. Here was one person who wasn't calling him an asshole, didn't think of him as an emotionally stunted jerk, who wasn't here to parade his mistakes in front of him.

He hoped.

Either way, the Russian's absolution of guilt felt damn good, and Chuck could only swallow and nod in return.

"You are ready?"

Again, he nodded.

"We go, then."

They stepped through the wall and emerged in a jaeger bay bustling with activity. Eyes wide again, Chuck looked around and realized this was the Hong Kong Shatterdome, but... Crimson Typhoon stood watch just ahead. Cherno Alpha was being towed into place in another bay. And... fuck... there was Striker Eureka, tall and proud and looking as badass as ever.

This was just a few days ago. This was....

"Wait here."

He jerked his attention away from the Titans above to the smaller drama at their feet. He saw himself in his drivesuit, the usual scowl in place as Herc strode off with Max in tow. Then, the old man let the leash drop entirely, and Max trotted eagerly forward to greet Miss Mori.

Who was standing with Raleigh Fucking Becket.

Great. Just fucking great.

"Oi, why are we looking at this?"

"Patience, tovarish. Watch and listen."

His recent-past self turned away from the kerfuffle about the has-been's reappearance, though Chuck remembered keeping an ear tuned to what little of the conversation he could hear in the busy jaeger bay. He was a little pissed at Herc for doing the pretty for the prodigal son, but honestly, he was too tired and jet-lagged to work up a proper fuss. Or had been too tired and jet-lagged. Fuck. This was too close to the present to keep straight in his own head.

"This. This is what you must see, little Hansen."

His other self called Max over, irritated that the little bastard seemed intent on getting a proper sniff of Becket's boots. As he got a good hold on his dog's collar, he glanced up to glare at the smug, strutting septic that had come in at the eleventh hour like something out of a stupid sports movie.

The smug, strutting septic was looking back, though, and instead of glaring, Chuck just... looked. The septic looked back. Then, the septic walked on, and a proper glare surfaced on recent Chuck's face.

Frowning, Chuck looked up at Aleksis. "So...?"

The bushy eyebrows rose. "You did not see that?"

Chuck's eyes narrowed.

The Russian smirked. "My friend, I am a dead man, and even I saw that." When Chuck continued to look blank, the big bloke seemed to take pity on him. "Here, look again, tovarish."

A gentle tug, and they stepped back into the wall and emerged... in the kwoon? Oh, Becket and Mori were having their little copilot test. What the hell was he supposed to see here?

"Look, my friend. Remember what your uncle said and try to see."

Well, hell, he'd taken a few shots to the head since he'd talked to his maybe-dead uncle last. How the hell was he supposed to remember what the bastard had said? Something about three more ghosts -- great, apparently there was still one to go, providing he lived through Aleksis' visit, of course -- and Chuck being headed for trouble and... waking up? What did that have to do with anything he'd seen thus far?

Something about dying miserable and alone niggled, but he pushed it back. That had been Yancy Fucking Becket, not his uncle, and Yancy Fucking Becket could go fuck himself.

Ol' Pentecost made his announcement about disqualifying Mori, who walked off with her head down to hide her disappointment, and the crowd started to clear out. Recent Chuck watched her walk by, and current Chuck remembered wanting to say something to her about it not being her fault but Becket's... but then he'd looked up and caught the has-been's eye.

Something _had_ passed between them, he knew. At the time, he'd thought the look on his own face a smug _Nice try, asshole_ smirk, but now... he wasn't so sure. Because whilst he'd thought Becket's expression had been a bit _Great, and Hansen just had to be there to see it, too_ then, he now thought it looked a little more _Why is he even here?_ than anything else.

Why _had_ he been there? He hadn't particularly cared about the matches because he hadn't thought Becket would be worth a handful of shit to anyone in a jaeger. Why, then, had he showed up to watch him fight?

And why did his supposedly smug smirk contain dimples?

"Do you see yet, little Hansen?"

Too confused to be anything but honest, Chuck shrugged slowly. "I... don't know."

A big hand clapped him on the shoulder. "That is better than not seeing at all. Come, I will show you more."

This time, they emerged in the empty mess hall. Well, not quite empty. Raleigh Becket sat alone at one of the tables, a cup of tea with the tag hanging out at one hand and a real book in the other. The bloke looked tired, and with a glance at the clock, Chuck understood why. It was almost three in the morning.

He frowned. "Wait, when is this?"

"This is now, tovarish. Watch closely."

Obedient in his... disquiet... with the somber turn of these dreamlike wanderings, Chuck watched as Becket sipped at his tea and slowly turned pages, his blue eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, the skin below them bruised with exhaustion. In fact, the poor bastard looked... _haunted_.

Well, damn. All the times Chuck himself was unable to sleep, maybe he should have gone looking for company instead of laying in silent misery in his bunk, growing more and more haunted himself.

Just as he realized Raleigh might have appreciated any company, even Chuck's, on those sleepless nights, he heard footsteps and looked up to see Miss Mori walking into the mess. She looked adorable in her pajamas, and Chuck couldn't resist a grin. They'd never been particularly close, but they sometimes shared a kindred feeling from being children of war. And he was proud of her, of course. She had more than proved herself.

Then again, hadn't Raleigh?

"I thought I smelled chamomile."

Becket looked up from his book and quirked a small smile. "Busted."

Grinning more freely than Chuck remembered her ever managing, she sat opposite Raleigh and poked the top of the book until the bloke let her read the cover. "H.P. Lovecraft? Really?"

He shrugged. "Seeing another dimension gives you some perspective on how little the universe cares whether we puny humans live or die."

Mori's grin faded. "Raleigh...."

Becket's smile stayed but became... fixed. A mask of a smile. "I see it every time I close my eyes, Mako. It's not gonna go away."

Chuck tensed. It had never occurred to him that his own nightmares of Slattern were only a patch on what Becket must feel about having fallen into a completely alien place. About nearly dying there. Was... was this what he was supposed to see?

Mori reached out and took the book from Raleigh's hands, closed it without marking the page, and set it aside. Then, she took the bloke's hands in her own, winding their fingers together. "Maybe you should talk to someone. This... Raleigh, this isn't healthy."

Wincing, Chuck heard the echo of his father's voice saying the exact same thing.

Becket sighed. "I tried talking to a shrink after Yancy, but... Mako, what can they say? They didn't understand what happened when Yancy was torn right out of my head, so they couldn't help me then. You think they're gonna understand this any better?"

Mori shook her head, her eyes dark with worry. "I don't like that you're leaving tomorrow. You shouldn't be alone right now."

Raleigh untangled his fingers and hastily wrapped them around his teacup instead, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. Chuck crept forward, frowning. There it was again. Why was Raleigh leaving? And why had no one told him?

"I can't stay here, Mako. Newt's already talking about all the tests he wants to run. He wants to put me in the Drift on a half-load to see if he can image capture anything from my memories of the Anteverse. I... I can't...."

Mori waved this away. "Dr. Geiszler cannot make you do anything you don't want to, Raleigh. The marshal won't allow it."

Damn right, Herc wouldn't allow it. And when he got back, Chuck would damn well punch the hyper little bastard's face in for even suggesting it.

"But I _should_ do it, Mako. And I ought to be able to."

"Fuck that, mate." Chuck started forward, only remembering that no one would hear or see him when Aleksis tightened his grip a bit. "Aw, come on!"

The big Russian only shook his head.

Besides, Raleigh was still talking. "You know as well as I do that they're not done. They'll find another way in, and we'll need any edge we can get on them. If I wasn't such a fucking coward--"

Mori startled them both by slapping her hand down on the table hard enough that both the book and Raleigh's teacup jumped.

"You are not a coward, Raleigh Becket. You have never been a coward."

Chuck felt his hands clench into fists. He wanted to... why the fuck wasn't he there? _Really_ there? Why the fuck was he sitting back and just watching this thing?

As if sensing his struggle, Aleksis gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

After a long silence, Raleigh sighed. "I'm running away again, Mako. I'm not proud of it, but I can't stay. I... just can't. If I stay, I know I'll give in... and...."

Mori's expression was rigid. "Do you think the marshal would have approved your request if he thought you were a coward for leaving? Did he say anything to talk you into staying?"

He better not have, Chuck thought, his jaw aching from how long it had been clenched. Thankfully, Raleigh shook his head. After a moment's uncomfortable silence, Mori softened.

"I never said you shouldn't leave, Raleigh. I just wish you weren't going alone." She touched his hand. "You shouldn't be alone until...."

But she couldn't seem to finish that statement.

Becket shrugged. "Herc needs you here. He needs everyone here. Except me, of course." He forced a smile entirely devoid of humor. "Who else is there?"

The silence dragged out, and Chuck couldn't stand it. He didn't know why he couldn't stand it, but he couldn't.

"Oi, what the fuck am I supposed to do, then?" He glared up at Aleksis, frustrated and angry and not even sure who he was angry at. "No way will Dad let those two clownshoes put Becket in the Drift like that, not if I have any say in the matter. But he can't just leave like this, either. Look at him. He's depressed as fuck. Yancy'd never let me have another night's sleep in my life if I let his little brother sneak off into the wilds to starve to death or pine away or whatever."

The Russian looked down at him with genuine amusement. "You care so much what happens to little Becket then, tovarish? Why is that, I wonder?"

He felt his neck flush. Worse, he felt the bluster wanting to take over. Unfortunately, he was dismally aware that now wasn't the time for either embarrassment or being an asshole. "He saved the goddamn world, lest you forget. He doesn't deserve to have to choose between being a science project or a suicidal outcast."

He wasn't quite done talking, but Becket's voice cut him off.

"You think Chuck will forgive me for running away again?"

His breath froze in his lungs.

Mori's answer was... careful. "I'm not sure Chuck can be objective right now."

Half of him wanted to leave this instant. The rest of him would have fought Aleksis tooth and nail to stay.

Becket managed a mockery of a smile. "After Otachi and Leatherback, I thought maybe we were starting to see eye to eye, but... he still gives me that look every time he sees me. That sarcastic _The prodigal son returns_ look."

Mori took her hands back, folding them carefully in front of her on the table. "Chuck is... difficult."

The Russian snorted. Chuck ignored him. Not like it was fucking news.

"He is battling his own demons, Raleigh. Don't take him too seriously."

Okay, he hadn't thought it was _that_ obvious. Since when was Mori the All-Seeing Eye?

Becket swallowed hard and ran a finger along the rim of his cup. "He thought I was a coward for running away before. I know he'll think the same thing now."

Chuck made a noise in his throat, but a warning tightening of the grip on his arm silenced him.

"And he's right. I _am_ a coward."

"Raleigh--"

But the dumbass septic shoved up from the bench and stood away, his jaw clenched and his exhausted, haunted eyes burning. "No, he's right." He held up a hand when she again tried to protest. "And you're right. I shouldn't be alone until I get some kind of grip on this. Maybe the tests will help."

"Ray, don't you dare." Fuck Aleksis' tightening grip. "Don't you dare do this because of me. Fuck, as soon as I wake up, I'll throw you on the goddamn chopper myself."

Mori was saying much the same thing, though with less swearing, until Raleigh shook his head and told her to stop. She did. Of course, she did.

"After the tests, I can leave free and clear. Just... I want to get them over with." He swallowed and forced something that might have been a grin before it died and rotted on his face. "Before I chicken out."

"Raleigh--"

But he was gone, and when Chuck moved to follow, the Russian's grip hauled him back. He looked up to protest, only to see a new look on Aleksis' big, bearish face.

Aleksis looked... worried.

"What? Jesus, what now?"

Instead of answering, the Russian jerked them back into the wall and out the other side, where all hell was breaking loose. Herc pounded on the unbreakable glass of the lab's observation room, his face panicked and harrowed with... grief? What the fuck? And Mako... Christ, Mako looked like someone had--

Numb as a horrible premonition washed over him, Chuck turned around to look at what they were looking at and felt all the strength run out of him. Raleigh thrashed and flopped on the laboratory floor, blood flying from his nose and his ears and his goddamn _eyes_ , a hoarse, broken shout jerking out of him as he convulsed.

"Cut him loose, goddammit!" Herc's voice was muted and weak, barely penetrating the glass. "Where's the goddamn failsafe?"

But Chuck didn't need to read the panic on Geiszler's face to know that there was no failsafe. In theory, a half-load Drift outside a jaeger shouldn't be anywhere near enough strain to endanger an experienced pilot, but Raleigh Becket had already suffered a full load on his own, dragging Gipsy Danger back to shore after his brother's death. And Raleigh Becket had already suffered a trip into another dimension -- again, piloting solo, even if for only a few moments -- and damn near died of oxygen deprivation to get back, to boot.

Geiszler had run a Drift on what amounted to a brain-damaged pilot, and now--

The flopping stopped, Becket's chest heaving once... twice....

Everyone was silent, waiting for another inhale. It never came.

"No." Chuck's voice was so weak he could barely hear it himself. "No, this... this is tomorrow, right? This... this hasn't happened. Right?"

He looked up at Aleksis Kaidanovsky, and though the Russian was the size of a jaeger himself, his grief made him look as small as Chuck felt.

"I can stop this. When I get back, I can stop this. I'll talk to him. Fuck, I'll pack him myself. Jesus, I'll even go with him, just... I can stop this, right?"

Helpless with no answer from his guide, Chuck looked over at his father, who had sagged on the glass with his head in his hands. Mori stood silent and still, tears streaming unheeded down her cheeks, her eyes fixed on the bloody mess on the laboratory floor.

And where the fuck was _he?_

"It is time, tovarish."

"No."

The grip on his arm tightened. "There is no more to see here, comrade."

"Fuck that! I can stop this!"

But Aleksis Kaidanovsky was not a man to be refused, and he was even less pliable as a ghost. A single pull on his arm, and Chuck felt himself hauled back into the wall, and he let loose a wail of... fury... of dismay... of... _grief_ as he went.

 

\--

 

The echo of his cry seemed to deafen him as he found himself alone in his bunk, on his knees, his head in his hands. All of this had been happening around him this whole time, and he'd been too wrapped up in his own mindfuck to see it. It wasn't even just Becket's godawful fate that horrified him but the look on his father's face... the agonizing grief in Mori's eyes....

Herc had already lost too much and had locked away even more. And, Christ, Mori had just lost her _father_. The family she'd found after her own family was taken from her. What would losing her copilot do to her on top of that?

And how would Chuck ever live with himself if he let it happen?

Fuck that.

"Too late, Mr. Hansen."

His head jerked up to see Stacker Pentecost looming over him. His throat dried out, and his stomach sank with impending doom. This... couldn't possibly be good.

"It's not too late." His voice cracked, and he made no move to stand. "I can fix it."

Immaculate in his dark suit, Pentecost stood at parade rest and looked impassively down from his towering height. "Tomorrow is already gone, Ranger. The future is at hand."

"No. No, this is still tonight, and I can still stop what happens tomorrow."

He tried to jerk away when Pentecost reached down for his arm, but he should have known he wouldn't get away. This fucking nightmare wasn't done with him yet. God help him.

At least he didn't have to Drift with the fucker this time. He only had to stand and follow.

They emerged on a frigid, dead-grass landscape, the wind blowing a constant whistle through the odd shapes of the headstones. Because of course Pentecost had dragged him into a cemetery. It only remained to see whose.

A woman with long, sleek black hair stood with her back to them, a dark coat flapping against her legs in the breeze. Though Chuck hadn't felt the cold when Yancy dragged him to the Icebox, he sure as hell felt it now. Felt it through to his bones.

They neared, and Chuck wearily looked over her shoulder at the tombstone. Correction: tombstones.

_Yancy Becket, hero and brother. May he rest in peace._

_Raleigh Becket, hero, brother, and savior of humanity. He died so we could live. May he rest in peace, reunited with his brother hereafter._

Oh, fuck.

His chest tight, he let Pentecost pull him around to look at Mako's grief-ravaged face. At first glance, she didn't look all that different. Then, he realized that was only because there wasn't a single emotion on her face. It was little more than a mask.

"Hello, Raleigh."

God, even her voice was lifeless. Was she even alive?

"You were right. Tendo called this morning. Tracking suggests that another Breach may be forming in another part of the Pacific." Not a single inflection. It was a recitation, nothing more. "He tried to call Marshal Hansen, but...."

He leaned forward, waiting for her to finish. After a long moment, he realized she didn't intend to.

"What? Tried to call Dad and what?"

Pentecost tightened his grip. "Quiet, Ranger. Show some respect."

Eventually, Miss Mori went on. "I just... thought you should know. You _were_ right." She began to turn away, then paused and looked down at her hands. For the first time, she seemed on the verge of emotion. "I... Raleigh, I don't... know how to tell you...."

Tension thrummed through him. Something was very wrong. When was this? Pentecost said the future, but when in the future? Mori didn't look much older, though it was hard to judge, what with her blank-faced expression.

"I'm so sorry, but... Chuck is dead."

His heart stopped in his chest.

"He... he never handled your death well. He blamed himself. I... the marshal tried to reach him, but they were never...."

Fuck. This was... _fuck_.

Her mask cracking around the edges, Mori knelt before Raleigh's tombstone and leaned her forehead against it, her fingers tracing the letters. "He was drinking and... there was an accident...." She swallowed hard. "Herc is... well, Chuck was all he had left."

"No." Chuck shook his head. "I wouldn't do it. I don't even know how to drive a goddamn car. This is all bullshit. This is a result of pounding down a whole goddamn bottle of vodka. It was probably irradiated or something."

He pulled against Pentecost's grip, and when he glared up at the bastard, he realized that the former marshal had no eyes, just empty, cavernous holes where eyes would have been.

Terror crawled up his spine, and he struggled harder. "Fuck you! Fuck all of this! If I can't change it, what's the fucking point?"

Pentecost's corpse dragged him away from Mori, who had curled up against Raleigh's tombstone and was weeping softly against its cold, unfeeling surface.

"No! What's the goddamn point? There's no salvation in this! What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

They didn't back into a wall this time, but they were somewhere else, all the same. Another cemetery, this one as hot as the other had been cold.

His heart sank. He'd recognize his father's back anywhere, even stoop-shouldered with the burden of grief.

The grip on his arm vanished, and he threw himself forward. "Dad! Dad, it's all bullshit! I'm right here! I can stop this!"

Something kept him from barreling into the old man. That same something forced him to stop and stare at the tombstone that held all his father's attention.

His tombstone, of course.

_Charles Hansen, beloved son and hero. God grant him the rest he sought in life._

Two pictures were held down with little votive candles at its base: a studio portrait of Angela Hansen and an old black-and-white candid shot of Herc and Uncle Scott.

The strength ran out of him, and he fell back as if poleaxed. Instead of collapsing to the dry, sun-scorched grass at his feet, he went right through it, floating down through the dirt and past his own body in its casket, then falling further still into the crushing dark below.

Images flashed through his mind -- the feel of that gaping black wound in the Drift between him and his father, the betrayed anger burning through him when his father told him Raleigh Becket had cut and run (not that his father had put it quite that way) after Yancy's death. The jolt of... energy... that had shot through him when he first met those blue eyes and realized that Raleigh Fucking Becket had apparently found his balls enough to come back and fight. The bigger jolt of sheer fuck-yeah that had him shouting Gipsy's name whilst Chuck stood ringside on Striker's shoulder, watching his old pin-up girl wrestle with Leatherback.

The little-girl shock on Mako's face as Becket carried her out of the conn pod after that disaster of a first Drift.

The sheen of sweat on the muscle flexing under Raleigh's singlet.

The tears in his father's eyes as they said goodbye. The tears in his father's eyes as Chuck flung himself out of the rescue chopper and into his arms.

The expression on Pentecost's face as Chuck realized that the extra toggle flip had nothing to do with the nuke and everything to do with his drivegear pulling him up into the escape pod.

They flowed by him without regard for chronology, bombarding him with his life until he felt like he had lost his mind. It was the Drift, but a Drift with himself only, and he was chasing the mother of all RABITs without any hope of a failsafe.

Finally, mercifully, it stopped.

 

\--

 

He blinked his eyes open, wondering why his head ached like a rotted tooth. And why he was on his back on the floor. And why his hair was wet.

Uncle Scott.

Yancy Becket.

Aleksis Kaidanovsky.

Panic filled him, and he twisted up from the floor so fast he damn near faceplanted, searching in the dark for a clock. Any clock, so long as it wasn't the war clock.

04:32.

"There's still time." Hope filled him. "I can stop it."

He hit the door running, not caring that he damn near fell down his own steps in the dark. Nobody was around to see it anyway. Part of him wanted to run to his father's bunk, but that could wait.

Raleigh Becket couldn't.

Hoping he'd picked the right door -- Shatterdome hallways were lowlit along the floor, but not enough to actually tell one door from another -- Chuck hammered on the metal until his fist hurt. He wanted to shout for Raleigh to get his lazy bludger ass to the door because he knew he wasn't fucking asleep, but he knew Mori was just across the hall and if she'd managed any sleep after that conversation earlier, Chuck didn't want to interrupt it.

Just as he started to wonder if maybe the dumbass had gone straight to the labs, the seal cranked and the door opened a crack.

"Chuck?"

His heart jumped into his throat, but he forced it back down. Now was definitely not the time. "Ray, I gotta talk to you. Can I come in?"

The one eyebrow he could see through the crack rose. "I thought we were staying out of each other's hair?"

"Aw, fuck." He was tempted to laugh hysterically, but that probably wouldn't help his cause. "Look, I know I'm an asshole, alright? I'm sorry. But this is important, yeah?"

The lone blue eye considered him for a long moment whilst Chuck fidgeted impatiently on the stoop. Finally, with a sigh, Raleigh backed away from the door and opened it. Chuck practically leapt through it, then closed it behind them and cranked it shut. Like that would stop the whole nightmare from happening.

"Chuck, you're acting really weird. Are you okay?"

"No. No, I'm not, but more importantly, neither are you."

Becket blinked, his eyebrows shooting up almost to his hairline.

"Ray, you can't take those tests tomorrow. Or, fuck, later today. You gotta get the fuck outta here, mate, and if I have to drag you onto the chopper myself, I fucking well will."

The poor bastard's mouth dropped open. "How... do you know about...?"

"I _know_ , alright? Tell me you won't do it, yeah?"

When the bloke couldn't seem to form words, Chuck gave up and did the first thing that popped into his head. He reached out, took the poor, confused fucker's face in both hands, and kissed him.

It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was desperate and hard and filled with everything Yancy and Aleksis had tried to show him but that he hadn't wanted to see.

None of that fucking mattered now. If two dead blokes could see the attraction, who was Chuck to argue? Hell, he thought even Uncle Scott had known, though the bastard hadn't come right out with it.

"Ray, Raleigh, please tell me you won't take those tests."

Becket tried to pull away, but Chuck only let him go far enough that their foreheads leaned together.

"Chuck... what is this? If you're still drunk--"

A harsh laugh choked out of him. "I've never been more sober in my life." Taking a deep breath, he tried to make sense. "Raleigh, listen to me. You've piloted solo one too many times. You try to Drift tomorrow, and something's gonna give. I can't take watching you bleed out on the floor again, mate. Don't ask me to do it because I fucking won't."

"Jesus." Raleigh jerked back hard enough that Chuck had no choice but to let him go. Thankfully, he didn't go far -- just enough to stare at Chuck with dawning horror. "Jesus, Chuck, I never even _thought_ about that."

He clenched his fingers in the seppo's t-shirt, just in case the bastard tried to get completely away. "No one did, and no one thought to tell me about it, and it's a fucking disaster. Promise me you won't do it."

Blinking and clearly appalled by how close it had been, Raleigh nodded. "I... okay, I promise. Just... how did you know?"

He huffed another laugh, though this one actually contained a grain of humor. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Hesitant now, he tugged at the bloke's shirt a little and held his breath until said bloke obligingly stepped close enough for Chuck to wrap in a hug. He felt his neck flush and he wasn't sure he wouldn't deny this whole thing later, but for right now, having Raleigh Becket alive and well in his arms went a long way toward chasing away the lingering chill from the nightmare he'd just lived through.

After a long moment, the bloke even reached up to return the embrace, and for the first time since Uncle Scott had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head, Chuck began to feel warm.

"I thought you'd think I was a coward if I left."

Sighing, he tightened his grip. "I probably would have. Like I said, I'm an asshole."

He felt Becket's cheek move against his neck and knew the dumbass was grinning, but he didn't care.

"You really are." The big body flexed on a shrug, and Chuck let himself enjoy it. "It's a good thing I knew that from the start."

The flush in his neck rose to his cheeks, and he grunted as he pulled away and shoved his hands in his pockets. Uncomfortable now, he had a hard time meeting the bloke's near-smirk.

"Look, Ray, I gotta talk to my dad about a few things, but... could I come back later?"

One eyebrow rose. "And...?"

He swallowed, resisting the urge to drop his gaze to the floor. "And... maybe... stay? See what happens?"

But at that, Becket faltered, his expression darkening. "Chuck, I can't just... ramble around here being useless. If I'm not doing those tests, I... really can't...."

Though his own mood had plummeted with Raleigh's, Chuck felt it make a comeback as the bloke tapered off. "I could leave with you, yeah?" In his pockets, his hands clenched into fists. "You shouldn't be alone, Ray. I think Mori would agree. I... you can talk to me, yeah?"

Raleigh cocked his head to one side and eyed him suspiciously. "Did you... were you spying on us?"

His cheeks heated again. "Not... exactly?"

"Chuck... what really happened tonight?"

A large part of him wanted to put his arms around the bloke again, but he resisted the urge. It was too soon for that yet, and Chuck had never been good at casual contact.

But someday... maybe....

Grinning a little, he shrugged. "I'll tell you all about it on the chopper ride out of here, yeah? We'll go pay our respects at Yancy's grave, then... well... who knows?"

Becket's jaw dropped again. "How did you know I was--"

"Oi, fuck, Ray! Just pack your shit, yeah? I gotta go talk to Dad."

And with those decidedly un-lover-ish words, he reached out, dragged the poor bloke into another hard kiss, then fled into the hallway to have a few long overdue words with his old man. He had another apocalypse to cancel, this one of a much more personal sort, and something told him this conversation wouldn't be any easier than the last one.

Odd, then, that he found himself grinning as he headed toward it. And scruffing his hand through his hair to make sure it was still damp enough to count as proof.

To his relief, it was.

Good ol' Uncle Scoot.


End file.
